


The First Step

by LukeVonCastiel



Category: Berserk
Genre: Dark, Dubious Consent, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-26
Updated: 2013-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-27 16:22:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/981058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LukeVonCastiel/pseuds/LukeVonCastiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Griffith takes the first step towards his Dream.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Step

In the dark, dank alleys of a village, a small boy stands, the night’s shadows hiding him from the unaware. No breeze rises to blow his white tangles from his face, instead letting them fall before his eyes. Wide and blue, they stare down at the ground near his bare feet, at the emptiness before him.

Blank eyes look back at him, unaware of the child before them. They can no longer see the rags that hang from his thin limbs, the ribs that protrude from a pale chest, those fragile fingers, grimy from the dirt of the streets, yet free from blood.

Yet the small figure knew there was blood on his hands. Though no red painted his thin fingers, he knew. He could see the froth and bile dripping from the mouth of the dead one, the owner of those blank eyes. The blue lips and pale pallour of one who tasted death. Who had tried to drink a fine wine and discovered it a poison.

The boy blinks, his wide eyes wet for reasons he doesn’t understand. This man was vile, a monster. His once dark eyes had followed him, the moves and actions of a small child of the streets, watching him as he’d run to see the castle in the glow of the setting sun, the tall spires and turrets shimmering in it’s golden light. He’d watched him as he’d snuck scraps from the streets, forced to eat the slop of pigs in his lowly state. He’d watched in his noble finery as the blue eyes of the street urchin had found his own, the tarnished, starving beauty catching his gaze.

At that time, the man had smiled, and the boy had felt sickness rise in his stomach. But as the sickness rose, so did ideas, crawling from the corners of his mind.

The boy had followed the nobleman, kept his hair and form as appealing as possible. Even when the noble ceased to watch him, he watched the other, sneaking, listening, learning. Understanding their actions, their movements, the gruesome beasts that lurked within those beautiful golden castles. He heard of intrigue, of drinks hiding a kiss of death.

Then he’d known what to do, what he needed to do. For the sake of towers that shone in the sun, and his chance to save that castle from the darkness that grew within, he known what he’d had to do.

He’d have to remove the beasts and take it for his own, crawling from the sewers and the streets to that brilliant light.

Thus, like the bait on a hook he’d lured the nobleman into his grasp, into the darkness. The dark-eyed beast knew him too well, knew his status as an urchin, as a street child, yet he had coin that the boy had needed. So with poison stolen from the man’s own stores, he’d lured him and been touched by him, the nobleman’s own hands digging long lines into his arms, the only red that tainted his pale form his own blood.

The man’s tongue had trailed along his neck, his body, and that had been it. The noble beast had perished, his form flailing before becoming deathly still, his blank eyes locked on the boy’s.

He had been a monster, yet still trickling tears wound down the boy’s face. A life had been taken, and though it’s worth could have been compared to less than dirt, it still left a gnawing sense of guilt. It danced through him, coupling with a filthy sensation where the man had dug his nails into his arms, where his tongue had touched.

The boy fell to his knees, bile rising in his throat as he tore at the soft silk of the noble’s coat. His cracked nails found their way into his pockets, taking the gold that was kept there. Then he stands, staring once more into the dead man’s eyes.

He flees, leaving the corpse in the dark alley behind him. He had much to do, much to plan, much to buy with the gold wrapped in his rags. To make himself beautiful, to find a patron. To take him in, to teach him, to give him the knowledge he needed to stand up and climb to the glimmering castle on his own. He needed to find the first step to becoming king.

Darting into another alley, the boy stops. The first step. The first…

Glancing back out into the dark village, he knows. He has already taken the first step, the first step toward his castle, his kingdom.

And in the shadows of night with no golden glow to light the spires of his dream, those steps seemed to be darker than the alleys he had always known.


End file.
